I Miss You
by Dark Raven Wrote
Summary: Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Every romance has a beginning and a middle, but do they all have an end? When Harry and Draco hit a...bump in their relationship, does the end approach? HPDM malexmale pairing, you have been warned. R


The cottage was set out in a stereotypical, traditional English style. The thatching of the roof settled into the country landscape like Ron into a pudding and pie dessert feast. Every year, the petite front garden would range from a rainbow of colour to the gold's of the circle of life and onto the crisp, white snow of a winter wonderland.

It was quite a small place, only one storey and two bedrooms. The front door, oak with a blurred glass pane, opened into a narrow hallway that cut straight through the centre of the house onto the cosy open kitchen at the end.

If a guest were to wander down this hallway, peeping their curious heads through each door they came to, this is what they would find:

First on the right, they would look in on the pristine white tile and spacious bathroom that was always filled with the sweet fragrance of the fresh roses that had been set seemingly randomly within ornate vases around almost the entire house. Opposite, the living room was quite cramp but everyone liked to call it homely. The space was taken up by the shiny, black upright piano, two sofas, which were too comfortable to leave after an evening drinking and nattering with friends, that faced each other with a wide, dark wood coffee table between them.

These objects took up more than half the room. The remainder of the carpet was covered by the chaotic but organised clutter of children's toys, broken muggle electronics and battered cauldrons sporting burn marks and tattered holes. Beside this, taking up one side of a desk sat a high-powered, state-of-the-art computer that was completely out of bounds to the man of the house. Papers were stacked, filed and stapled in an orderly fashion on the other side of the small table. This was the Wife's space, no man, with only one exception, was allowed into this space, especially her husband.

The walls were filled completely with bookshelves overflowing with thick volumes, although the higher shelves were made up of scattered bottles of potion ingredients from the finest Unicorn hairs, freely given of course, to mashed beetle's eyes to snap grass venom. These shelves were also off limits to the husband, not that he ever went near the bookshelves for books if he could help it, let alone ingredients for a potion!

The next room along was a small bedroom, the bedroom of a child. A multitude of toys that had barely been used before being forgotten littered the floor. The crib at the centre of the room was presently occupied by a tiny baby who was sleeping soundly, its breathing light and a small dribble of spittle that should have been disgusting but was, in reality, amazingly adorable running down its chin.

Across from this brightly decorated room was the other bedroom, larger in size. An open closet of neatly aligned clothes ran along one entire wall and was packed with an array of male and female items ranging from sloppy, muggle jeans to the finest wizarding dress robes a limited budget could buy.

The large canopy bed stood at the heart of the room, proud and grand, covered in the Gryffindor colours of glowing gold curls of pattern upon a background of the deepest maroon. A guest looking in, however, would not linger in this room long as they would feel uncomfortable intruding into such a private personal space. They would move onto the kitchen, where to two adults of the household were currently arguing in heated whispers.

White marble worktops lined three of the four walls, complete with appliances and used cupboards. A clear glass door framed in a clean white wood lead out to the back garden. It was a plain garden in comparison to the one a visitor would first see at the front of the house with fresh, emerald grass, a little child's swing and a raised vegetable patch that was always sprouting some kind of food all year round.

The kitchen held a third doorway, as well, that was locked and, if possible, hidden by drying washing or domestic devices – living in remote muggle villages still called for secret basements for underground wizarding activities.

"Shush, Ron, you'll wake the baby."

"Look, I just don't agree with your choice of babysitter."

"Ssshhhh!" Hermione hissed viciously across the table in the centre of the room at her husband. "He's the only one I trust who isn't going to this stupid Ministry thing."

"Trust?!" Ron Weasley exploded immediately. "Have you gone mad? I wouldn't trust that git if he was the last man left on earth. I still say he's a greasy, old bat who doesn't know his place and a Death Eater."

Gasp! "Ronald, you know perfectly well that Severus was cleared of all Death Eater charges. And a point, dear husband, if he were the last man on earth then you wouldn't be alive. You're just being melodramatic, as usual."

"Just because…"

Several tentative knocks sounded on the front door and they both looked out into the hallway at the smeared figure that stood outside. The eye contact the followed was a warning and agreement that this argument would be finished at a later date. Ron sighed as he hurried to the front door to greet his best friend while his wife went to make sure their baby had not been woken.

"Hey, Harry! I haven't seen you in…mate? What's with the suitcase? Your mystery man thrown you out?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Oh…" They stood awkwardly at the door, swaying slightly, fiddling with bag straps and tapping fingers against trouser legs. Then, finally after what seemed like hours, Ron spoke softly. "Come in for some tea, mate?"

"Please…I'd appreciate it."

"Hermione'll be a minute," he said, grabbing one of his friend's hastily packed bags and leading the way to the kitchen. "She's just making sure our Angel didn't wake."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realise it was her nap t…"

"It's fine, mate. We said we'd be here for you, no matter what. Having a child doesn't change that."

"You're family as well, Harry."

"Hermione!" He stood from his place at the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around her slim waist.

"How are you, Harry? Actually, no, don't answer that yet. Will you be staying over tonight?"

"At least. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, you're family. I'll just go set up the sofa for you. Don't start any important conversations without me."

Hermione gave her friend one last hug before rushing from the kitchen. Harry dropped gently back into his chair, dipping his eyes as he did so. He always felt guilty asking something of his friends but this time invading their personal space, their home, their family, he felt even worse.

"Milk and a sugar, mate."

Harry did not even respond. Ron knew how he liked his tea, he was just trying to break the awkward tension that now hung over the room. He could hear Hermione in the living room, ruffling blankets and lightly clicking well concealed cupboards shut.

"Here," Ron placed the hand painted mug in front of him, a fruit from one of Hermione's many hobbies during the later stages of her pregnancy.

They sat in silence, every now and then bringing their mugs up to their lips and sipping to liquid. The warm drink gave Harry hope. Each time a little bit slid down his throat he shivered and thought back to the early days of _their _relationship, sitting cuddled together by the open fire with cups of tea or hot chocolate. And then there was that Christmas evening two years ago, the year they moved into their flat from Hogwarts, when Harry, docile little virgin that he had been, had finally allowed his 'mystery man' to become his lover.

That night had been especially cold. They had been curled together on the fluffy, white rug before the flaming fire as usual, mugs of hot chocolate warming their fingers while their mingled body heat incubated the rest of them. Every few weeks, Harry would find a pale hand slipping the mug from his hand and putting it on the coffee table. Soon after, he would find the fur of the rug caressing him and that beautifully angelic face floating above him. But each time he would press his hand up onto the firm chest and shake his head, saying 'Not yet.' One would think this would have affected their relationship but it did no such thing. The angel still kept trying with patience greater than any human every few nights and it became an increasingly common, honest tradition, showing Harry's faith, not a brutal and repetitive rejection.

But on this night, with the seraphs singing in the star lit skies and the snow falling ever so lovingly onto the vulnerable world below, Harry did not shake his head, but reached up to pull his angel to him and said instead of his traditional words, 'I'm yours.' That night, for the first time, with the flames of the fire licking at their already moist bodies, Harry Potter discovered heaven.

"Harry? Harry!? Are you all right?" Harry was jolted from his reverie by Hermione's worried words echoing in his ears.

"Sure, Herm."

"Tell us what happened, Harry."

"I can't tell you everything. D…He'd kill me," Harry laughed, until he saw the horrified looks upon their faces and added, "Not literally."

"Tell us what you can," Hermione puffed out a sigh and settled into the last remaining chair opposite him.

"There isn't really much I _can _tell you, only the end part really. You know that new reporter, Billy Jonas?"

"Yeah, Rita Skeeter's apprentice."

"That's him. Well apparently he's bent as a boomerang. Somehow he got through my wards and was waiting for me when I got home. I basically told him to piss off and that I wasn't interested, but he sprang at me and 'trapped me in a corner' if you catch my drift. It had to be that exact moment that he walked in, didn't it. God, just the look on his face. He was furious. I high tailed it out of there before anyone could get a word out."

"But, your bags..?"

"Yeah, I snuck back in while he was at work today and grabbed a few of my things."

"So where have you been staying since then?"

"Hotel, Hermione. I'm not that irrespons…" An owl tapping on the kitchen window stole all their attention. It was a majestic, black and gold, eagle owl.

Harry cursed under his breath as Ron opened the window for it, saying as he did so, "swear I recognise that bird from somewhere."

The owl swooped over to the table and, after landing, held out its leg to Harry, somehow still managing to look like royalty.

'_To My Dearest Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you safe and sound at the Weasley place and if not I am, at this very moment giving up our carefully held secret of my identity, although I shall admit that it is only really I whom wanted it to be kept. I think it's about time they knew. Tell them if you wish but, please, just come back to me love._

_Why have you gone? It was no fault of yours, what happened. When you took the potion we knew the chances of success were so very slim._

_I know my own emotions cannot come near to what you must be feeling as the carrier but please come back to me. Don't make yourself suffer alone. I want to help. I want to understand. I want to love. I want you. No, I need you._

_I love you, Harry, and although it may not be the most appropriate thing to say in a letter I need to say it. I cannot function without you, Harry. You literally keep me alive. For the past two days we have been apart, my brain has ceased to operate, the cogs only turning for this written plea at the image of you in my arms once more._

_Why did you go, Harry? Why did you run away from me? Do I frighten you? Do you not love me anymore? Did you ever love me?_

_Come back to me, Harry. Love me again. The flat, the manor and my heart are empty without you. _

_Forgive me of my sins, though I know not what they be._

_I shall love you always, Harry._

_Eternally yours,_

_Draconis Abrax Malfoy-Potter' _

"Oh Draco…" Harry's whisper drifted into the stunned silence that was soon interrupted by the sound of Ron's dead weight hitting the kitchen floor.


End file.
